


Legacies

by midnightsheart



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Middle Ages, Pureblood Culture (Harry Potter), Pureblood Society (Harry Potter)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-16
Updated: 2019-08-22
Packaged: 2020-05-12 23:32:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19239322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/midnightsheart/pseuds/midnightsheart
Summary: Temptetion draw him to her.Desire made him wanting her.Curiosity evoke his feelings for her.Tom Riddle was a pureblood. Living this ideology perfectly. But since he saw a certain mudblood a dark desire was building inside him. A desire he could no longer deny as he heard her name for the first time: Hermione.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by J.K. Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros. Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

**Chapter One**

 

Her hips were moving gracefully to the music the older man was playing on his flute. Her body being one with the melody. Moving like it was born to dance, to entice, _to bewitch_.

Her curves seducing the men watching her enchanted, being astonished by her petite form. The women looking at her with amazement likewise with envy.

The brown silky curls of the lovely creature framing her beautiful face, swinging with every move her body made. Her eyes closed to fully concentrate and to enjoy the music which she was dancing to.

Her thick lashes resting on her rosy cheeks. Her plump and inviting lips lightly parted, sucking in air to continually breath in and out.

Her hands were everywhere – in her tempting locks, on her _sinful_ curves. Roaming her body to show _him_ what he could never have.

Because she was the devil, she was a sin, she was a _muggleborn_.

And he himself was a good man. A rightful man.

A knight to their lord. A lord he would never betray.

 _Lord Gellert Grindelwald_ who saved them from the dirty blood. Protected them. And showed all those muggleborns where they belonged to.

Not being able to work as the _normal_ human being was allowed. Living in the dark, only being allowed to work in a household of a pureblood or instead being sentenced to death.

But some of them illegally lived in little colonies on the streets of the city. Protected by their poor magic they lived in the culverts. Like little rats.

Those were a thorn in the eyes of the ministry because somehow, they managed to become a little part of their privilege pureblood society.

The muggelborn used magic to _entertain_. And those who did a good job would be left to live their miserable life. Sometimes those muggleborns were even dedicated for great celebrations.

And now Tom Marvolo Riddle was watching such a scenario.

It was the day his Lord saved all purebloods by enslaving all mudbloods. A day they all celebrated; it was known as _The Day of Independence_. Every year the pureblood and some halfblood wizards of London met at the market square. Celebrating their freedom, singing, dancing – being freed from the dirty muggleborns.

Watching a circus, which mainly comprised some talented mudbloods, doing its show for the purebloods’ entertainment.

Disgusted Tom Riddle, leader of the king’s royal guard, adverted his eyes form the sinful woman.

He was angry because every year since he was old enough to serve his Lord, he remembered watching this curly haired woman in her graceful dance. Every year he hardly could take off his eyes from her petite form.

And with the years passing by he saw that the pretty girl transformed into a beautiful woman he desired to touch. He opened his dark eyes, watched as she ended her dance with a polite curtsy and shortly thereafter left the stage walking daintily. Her red long dress hugging her curves, swinging in the wind.

Tom clenched his hands, feeling that his dark magic was sparkling around him.

The voice of his Lord caught his attention, “Tom Riddle, suit yourself. What is it that you are not able to control your magic, my boy?”.

Riddle turned over thereby he could investigate the face of Grindelwald who was sitting in his throne, watching his guard knowingly. Oh, he knew what his loyal knight thought about the woman. How he desired her. And he himself had to admit that the mudblood indeed had something which made her desirable.

Somehow, he was proud that Riddle could keep himself in charge. A lot of his men did fall for pretty mudbloods. Who could blame them? Dirty blood aside a man was just a man, seduced by a beautiful woman and her sinful body.

“My Lord”, Riddle calmly began, “Forgive me my idiocy.”

Grindelwald smiled wickedly. He always liked to play a little game – why not trying to shatter Tom’s composure?

“Tom, I think we have to be rigours with these mudbloods”, Grindelwald said, watching Tom giving him a curious look, “What do you mean, my Lord?”.

Once again, a wicked smile played around Grindelwalds’ lips, “I want you to control the pavilion of the mudblood”, he gestured elegantly with his hand to the woman that moments ago was occupying the stage, now entering a tent.

Tom turned around with his whole body, his beautiful face not given away any sign of his feelings, his dark eyes connecting directly with those of his master, “Of course, my Lord”, he stated coldly and left the royal stage.

Grindelwald’s cold eyes did not leave his back until he disappeared behind the fabric of the tent. Devilish he grinned.

 

**-**

 

Hermione sat down on the lousy ottoman in front of her old vanity which belonged to her mother long ago.

A sigh left her lips while she reached for her brush to comb her curls. She looked at her reflection in the mirror, studying herself.

Tears formed in her brown eyes and a sob escaped her mouth. _No_ , she scolded herself, _stop crying, foolish girl_.

She was alive, was not that enough? A lot of her people died everyday and she was alive, she could use her magic, she could fight for her folk. She _lived_.

She put her brush aside and started to open her red dress, loosening the stripes of the corset.

Being lost in her thoughts she did not hear the intruder entering her tent.

Lost she stared at her fingers while she undressed herself. Did she really _live_?

Was it called a life when one had to sleep in fear? Had to subordinate themselves? She missed the times when she did live with her mugglefamily in London.

A small house in the end of the street, a small backyard, a swing. Just for herself. Her parents, _muggels_ , loving her, caring for her.

But suddenly there was magic in her life – and everything changed.

They killed her parents, took her, tried to enslave her. But to her luck the Weasleys exempted her. And now she was here, working to entertain those who were responsible for her so-called _life_.

With a sigh she once again looked in the mirror while the dress slipped off her shoulders.

A scream echoed in the tent when Hermione saw the reflection of a young man, dressed in the robes of the royal guards, in the mirror of her vanity.

She jumped off the ottoman, knocking over said object in her shock, and clutching the front of her dress so it could not slip down her chest.

Like a deer seeing the huntsman, _its death_ , she tried to escape but realised that the man in front of her was blocking the only way out of her tent. Therefore, she pressed herself into the corner of her tent and watched with big eyes as the man closed the entrance of the tent behind him.

When he turned around, she was mesmerized for a moment. Never had she seen such a beautiful man. He remembered her of the pictures of Greek gods. Striking face features, dark blue eyes and perfectly combed dark locks. Broad shoulders.

He was an impressive character.

Suddenly she was aware of the magic surrounding him, consuming hers. Making her shiver when their magic connected.

Hermione watched him carefully and waited for him to do what he was there for. But instead saying or doing anything he just watched her.

His eyes roaming over her body, watching her dress hanging loosely around her chest, studying her face and discovering the fear in her bright eyes.

Hermione was scared the moment she recognised his uniform.

No one was visited by a member of the royal guard because of friendliness. No, it was always a sign of something very bad.

 _Connected to the death of the visited_.

What did she do? Did they know about the little riot they were planning? Did they know something about the army they were building?

No, it was not possible that anyone except the people who planned it did know something about it.

She took all her courage, suddenly standing in a confident pose and asked in a small but firm voice, “How can I help you, sir?”.

She saw a glint in his eyes when he heard her voice. As if she had wakened him up with this question, he came across the tent to stand directly in front of her, she had to title up her head and realised how much taller he was.

But she did not flinch, looking him straight in the eyes. With cold eyes he looked down at her, a sinister look in his dark eyes, “Lord Grindelwald wishes to know more about you, mudblood”, the guard stated coldly.

Anger clouded Hermiones’ mind at the mention of this _insult_.

She knew how they talked about her kind; in their opinion they were something dirty, something not worthy to live, and something as disgusting as mud under their shoes. And it made her angry when they referred to her and her muggleborn folk as mudblood.

And to Hermiones’ dilemma she was ruled by her emotions and could not stop herself from spitting out angrily her next words into the face of the royal guard, “So what? Do I have to write down my whole family story for Lord Grindelwald or are you able to remember more than five words, _Sir_?”

She could not even take a breath because in the blink of an eye she felt his strong hand around her delicate throat.

He smashed her against the fabric of the tent, making it totter dangerously, making Hermione close her eyes and moan in pain.

She did let go of her dress when she felt that she was lifted by the hand of the guard, her both hands grabbing his arm tightly, her nails digging in his flesh.

The dress was gliding from her body but the only thing she could think about right now was the dangerous man in front of her.

Slowly she opened her eyes and realised how near he was.

Millimetres parted their bodies, centimetres their faces, she could feel his hot breath on her face. Steady and clean, _peppermint_ , she recognised.

His dark eyes sparkled angrily, but his face seemed calm, “How dare you to insult my brains, mudblood? You should behave in front of your master. Did not your mother teach you any manners?”, his cold words reached her ears.

His dark voice sending shivers down her spine. Ignoring this feeling, she looked at him, hard and hateful, “You are not my master. I am my own master. You are just an evil man trying to impress a maniac.”

The grip around her throat became even harder, making her gasp for air hardly. Tears formed in her eyes when she realised that breathing had become challenging.

Behind a blur she saw that the face of the young man was coming closer, suddenly his lips were by her ear, touching her earlobe lightly while he whispered perilously, “My, my, little mudblood. Such a courage? You should be careful how you talk about my lord. Would not want to cut out your tongue.”

Fearfully Hermione let go of his arm, trying to breath, feeling his lips once again on her earlobe and wishing that she would not have such a big mouth.

To her astonishment he loosened his grip when he heard her uneven breath.

Suddenly the entrance of the tent was opened rather forcefully, Hermione heard a familiar voice shouting, “Hermione? What’s going on in here? I heard a scream”, Remus Lupin stood in the entrance and looked shocked into their directions.

Remus himself was a werewolf – tolerated by the purebloods because of his nature and his danger. But he was not respected.

Still he enjoyed some privileges.

The guard did not left her throat when he let her down, still clutching her throat lightly he adverted his eyes from her and watched into the directions of the werewolf, “We did have a little chat”, he said calmly and a polite smile played around his lips.

Remus looked at Hermione, saw her tears, the dress which hung loosely around her waist. “A chat? Well, I think, this chat is over, right, Riddle? Please be so kind and let go of her”, Lupin suggested and took a step into their direction.

“Of course, Lupin”, Riddle spat out and let go of Hermione, making her fall to the ground. In an instinct she leant back into the fabric of the tent, clutched her arms around her chest, looked up into Riddles’ face and watched him with fearful eyes.

Her throat was starting to bruise.  Cold the man was looking down at her, a moment she saw something glint in his eyes but then he just turned around and left the tent. Leaving her and Lupin without any other word.

 

**-**

 

“I am fine, Remus. Just leave me alone”, Hermione sighed in annoyance.

Since the royal guard left the tent Remus was around her. Asking her what did happen, what the man did say, what she did to anger him that much.

And now she was no longer fearful, no. She was angry and annoyed. Angry because of the stupid pureblood treating her like a thing and annoyed because of Remus who once again behaved like an overdramatic father.

Indeed, Remus was like a father to her. Since she was little, he was there, reading to her, playing with her, teaching her to use her magic. And in all these years he had become her family.

They were still in her tent; she had changed her clothes and now was wearing a plain blue dress.

Remus was searching in her vanity for a bruise paste. After a couple of minutes and a lot of swearing later, he did find one and handed it to Hermione who started to rub in the paste, hissing in pain when she touched her throat.

Remus watched her, the worried look still on his face, “Hermione… You must be careful. Those purebloods are dangerous. Do you even know who this man is?”.

Hermione did not even look at Remus when she stated, “Why should I? He is one of them, I do not need his stupid name to be disgusted by him”.

Lupin groaned annoyed, “Hermione! This was Tom Riddle! The so-called right hand of Grindelwald. He could have killed you in a second when he wanted to”.

At those words Hermione looked into Remus’ face.

She did hear about the infamous Tom Marvolo Riddle. Known for his brutality and cruelty.

He was a great wizard, living the pureblood ideology at its fullest. But she also knew that he did not kill without a reason – or an order.

Why was he interested in her?

“Hermione?”, Remus voice interrupted her thoughts.

“Yes?”, she asked and watched how Remus sat beside her, studying her worried, “I don’t know what he wants from you. But please, be careful. I beg you to stay in the hideout for a few days.”

Smiling Hermione took the hand of the older man and leant into his shoulder, she did put his arm around her shoulders.

She looked into his face and said, “Ok, Lupin. I’ll stay inside for a few days. Don’t be scared. Everything’ll be alright.”

 

  **-**

 

 _I can still feel her skin under my fingers,_ Tom thought while he was laying on his large and comfy bed in his luxurious bedroom in the castle of Lord Grindelwald.

As his loyal leader of the royal guard Tom had to live in his castle.

He did not mind. It was a great honour for him to be able to live near by his lord. He had his own rooms, his own servants and could do anything he wanted to.

But the only thing he wanted to do now was to touch the mudblood once again.

To feel her skin. To sniff at her hair which had smelled so enticing he could hardly let go of her.

Her soft skin of her earlobe he could feel and taste with his lips.

 _Hermione_.

Such a beautiful name for a creature like her.

Never had he guessed that someone of her kind could be named so pretty. In all those years he did not even think about her name. No, for him it was always the most beautiful mudblood he had ever laid eyes on.

But a name? No. Those creatures were never called by a name.

But in this case, he would make an excuse.

He closed his eyes and placed his arms behind his head, thinking about every detail he had caught within the few moments with her.

At first, he thought about her brown eyes, shining bright at him. Of course, he had seen her fear, but he had also seen how strong she was. And he had seen the wisdom inside her dark iris.

And her _lips_. He was drawn to those plump lips, wondering how they would taste when he would kiss them.

 _Bite them_.

Her soft hair. Her wild curls smelling like the most beautiful flower.

Her skin, so pure and soft to his touch. Her delicate form.

He moaned in delight as he remembered his hand on her throat, his lips on her skin.

What would he give to feel her right now.

And all of sudden he was angry with himself.

He jumped out of his bed and clenched his hands, closed his eyes and left his dark magic do, what it desired to do.

Suddenly his bed was on fire – the flames hot against his back but all he could think about was the woman – _no_ – the _mudblood_ which made him desire her.

Made him betray himself and his ideology.

This _thing_ was invading his thoughts, making him think about her, she was a _sin_.

 _But..._ maybe this sin could be forgiven? Just taking a little taste of her.

Just a small little taste.

His anger disappeared as fast as it came. The flames died and with a flick of his hand, the bed was as new.

Tom let himself fall on his bed and glided with his long fingers trough his locks.

Thoughtfully he looked at the artistically painted celling, in his mind he still saw her.

Dancing gracefully, moving her body sinfully. Her eyes looking at him fearfully.

The next time he wanted her to look at him another way. He wanted her to look at him seductively.

Her hands on his broad shoulders, her lips on his skin.

He moaned and closed his eyes.

He could not longer deny what he felt all those years he watched her.

 

_Hermione was the name of his desire._

 

 

**-**

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello guys.  
> I hope you enjoyed the first part of this Story. I intend to do just three to four parts. But each part should be as Long as this one.  
> I had the idea for this fanfiction while watching a Disney Movie - I hope you can guess which one it was? Please forgive me when there are any issues in my Grammar or writing, my first language is German and I am trying to do my best while writing, but I am just a human. So, when someone would like to correct my issuses, feel free to contact me.  
> See you soon! :)


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

 

Her most favourite place was a small green clearing nearby a small river. A beautiful reality in her darkness filled life.

The moonlight was reflected by the cold water surrounding her feet. Calmly Hermione enjoyed the soothing wetness between her toes, closed her eyes and listened closely to the silent and dark night which surrounded her.

She loved those moments. Moments she enjoyed too rarely. She was happy – _somehow_. She lived with her family – those people who helped her to survive – in the culverts.

Yes. To common ears it was disgusting to live like rats in the culverts, but Hermione knew how they lived – they lived surrounded by pure and earnest _magic_.

The once cold stone walls now were ensembled by a deep forest. Big trees, green grass, colourful flowers – that was her home.

Still, the depressing part was there, invisible for those who closed their eyes to the truth.

All in all, it was all _just_ plain and, in her mind, disturbing _magic_ which played with her feelings.

Created a world which was a tragic lie. _Theatre_. And _somehow_ Hermione did not enjoy living this kind of life. The life of the forgotten and miserable.

The life of a mudblood despised by the pureblood wizards.

Thoughtfully, Hermione watched her own reflection in the clear blue water.

Small fishes swam around her legs, making her smile prettily. She did let go of the hem of her white dress and slowly crouched down, she did not  mind that her dress became moist, sticking to her legs and preventing her mobility, she could fix that easily with a spell later.

Lightly her pale fingers glided above the calm surface of the river, playing with the small fishes.

Interested those little creatures nipped at her fingers and a soft laugh escaped her rosy lips at the strange feeling.

Twitching her fingers gingerly she played with them, sending a little bit of her magic into the water to create little bubbles the fishes tapped lightly.

A sad smile formed on her lips while she carefully touched one of those fishes.

Would she ever be as happy and free like them? Swimming in the small river they lived freely. Happily.

No one declared them as unworthy.

A deep sigh left her lips while she straightened her posture suddenly, scaring the little creatures which swam away in an instant.

Looking into the distance a deep frown appeared on her lovely face.

Her thoughts were hilarious. No living thing was entirely happy, nor did they gain happiness out of wailing constantly.

Putting up a fight against those who hated because of obvious self-loathing was the answer Hermione had to internalize. The dignity of a human should not be denied, nor should it be infringed.

Pureblood, halfbloods, muggleborn – where was the difference?

They all were able to do magic. A magnificent thing alone which should create a strong bond within the wizard’s society.

Fighting each other, depriving one’s own rights, abhorring one of their kind – this all was a fault.

Failure because they still had to hide in a magic world because muggles were not prepared to acknowledge their existence.

Hermione dreamed of a world where everyone was accepted – muggles and wizards living together, helping each other.

 _Maybe one day_ , she thought bitterly, and her lips curled into a small sad smile, _If only it were not for the great arrogance of the purebloods considering themselves as some kind of superior species._ She ended her inner monolog with a breathy laugh and closed her eyes once again, enjoying the silence of the night.

All at once a heavy and icy wind blew through the woods around the clearing and the curly haired woman crossed her arms in front of her chest, hugging herself tightly as a light shiver caught her whole petite form.

Frowning Hermione watched as the trees swayed dangerously in the sudden wind, the water crashed rather forcefully against her legs, making herself stumble heavily and a small snivelling moan left her lips while she tried to stable her posture.

Suddenly she felt an intensive presence behind her, approaching her fast.

Dark and powerful magic was all around the clearing, suffocating her, making her gasp as she tried to flee.

Her long and wet dress stuck to her legs, making the escape challenging. Her curls swayed in the wind, crashing into her face, preventing her view.

Breathing hardly, she ran as fast as she could. Her feet hurt because she left her shoes by the river, forgotten in the sudden rush. The hard surface of the woods was cutting into the soft flesh, making her stumble due to the pain.

 _Faster_ , she thought, while the wind was hitting forcefully against her whole body.

A heart shattering shriek left her throat when all of a sudden, an enormous tree in front of her was teared out of the ground. The roots visible while it swayed perilously in the direction of the young witch that came to an abrupt halt.

With fear filled eyes she watched the scenario in front of her and considered her options within seconds.

Hermione turned around and tried to flee into another direction when she heard the loud sound of the tree being teared out entirely and falling directly into her way.

Desperately she tried to summon her magic to protect herself when the tree was falling down onto her, a last thought coursing through her mind, _I don’t want to die_.  

Fearfully she felt the thick blow of the tree when suddenly a pair of strong arms snugged around her hips.

She was pressed into a solid body and suddenly a protective aura surrounded her and her mysterious saviour.

The magic was powerful and pure, and Hermione had to suppress a moan because of the exerted pressure on her body.

Still she felt the strong wind around her, heard the forest sway and she could sense that the tree had crashed upon them but the barrier of the stranger was stronger than the wrath of the nature. Hermione was impressed and scared.

Which creature created by nature was able to defy it?

When an ear-splitting crack echoed, Hermione winced, and a muffled scream left her lips while her hands grasped the robes of the man saving her.

“Be quite”, a deep voice whispered into her ear, lips ghosting above the soft skin of her neck, making her shiver softly.

Realizations dawned on her as she recognised _this_ particular voice.

Furiously Hermione raised her head, making eye contact with her so-called saviour.

Her hazelnut eyes sparkling angrily at the dark-haired wizard who had pestered her a few days earlier.

Forgotten was the forest which was falling apart around them when pure rage emerged itself within her whole body when she struggled to set herself free and spat lividly, “Let go of me!”.

But his iron grip never loosened, nor did his form stumble.

With knitted brows, a displeased snarl on her lips and warning eyes she stopped her struggling but did let go of his robes.

“Have you finished?”, Riddle asked coolly, still clutching her hips rather forcefully and glancing down at her superciliously. His dark blue eyes were intense, and Hermione could no longer look into his face because she _knew_ that he had saved her life.

With an unladylike huff she lowered her angry gaze and listened to the storm outside his excellently casted _Protego_ which shielded them effectively.

“Hold onto me”, his velvet voice demanded while he pulled her body closer, “I intend to use apparition”, he explained himself avoiding her expected nagging.

Cautiously her fingers glided to his robes once again. No other option left she clutched his armour tightly.

 _B_ _etter touching this git than loosing an arm because of unsuccessful apparition_ , Hermione thought sulkily.

Softly she leant into him and closed her eyes, ignoring his clean scent making something deep within her flutter.

Tom looked down at her curly head while his grip on her tightened solemnly.

One hand rested on the small of her back, the other on her curvy hip. He felt her body against his and enjoyed the peaceful moment.

His dark desire consumed him since he had first laid his hands on her.

The unsettling fascination for this mudblood, which has formed in all those years just watching her, was something he hated.

His dreams were of her alone – she haunted him every night. Her soft locks swaying with every seductive move of her body. Her small hands touching him softly. Her rosy lips kissing him, devouring his body. Her smooth voice moaning his name sinfully.

And every night he awoke startled by his ineffable dreams.

The effects of them clearly visible on his body, filling him with hot rage.

The sheer possibility that someone like her, a low mudblood, was able to awake such needs inside him, was _unacceptable_.

It made him furious that his mind was clouded by her. That his desire prevented him from his duties because he longed after her damnable beauty.

But now, feeling her petite body, smelling her crisp scent, _now_ , he could enjoy a small part of his fantasy.

Could grasps onto this moment when he would find no rest the following nights.

With heavy lidded eyes he placed his chin softly on her head, breathing in deeply and concentrating partly on the apparition.

The other part was consumed by her entrancing presence.

 

 **-**                         

 

Hermione felt how the apparition pulled heavily on her body, her soul and her mind.

She disliked this way of travelling, preferring a ride on a horse or just a plain walk.

Even more she despised the tradition of broomsticks. How could one feel secure sitting on a piece of plain wood while flying high into the sky?

With closed eyes she waited for the moment her feet would meet a solid ground. In this moment she would shove that outrageous man aside and run for her dear life.

Herimone was furious because she could feel _everything_.

She felt his hands on all those places they did not belong to. She felt his head resting on hers and she did feel how he scented her deeply.

Lowly he breathed in and snuggled her body even closer against his solid form.

Hermione was repulsed and mildly confused. Was not he the one who despised her because she was muggleborn?

Why did he seek her proximity so desperately?

With a sudden strong wind Hermione could feel that the apparition had ended.

Feeling the hard surface of the ground a pain-filled moan left her lips. The cuts in her feet had been completely forgotten in the rush of the past events, until now.

Tears shoot into her eyes and her hold on Riddle intensified instinctively to not loose her balance.

Hermione gritted her teeth to bear the pain consuming her whole body, it seemed like something very sharp had cut deeply through the flesh of her left foot.

She was straddled when strong arms wrapped around her knees and shoulders to lift her up.

With big eyes she looked into the stoic face of Tom whose eyes connected with hers. Too confused by the second time he helped her this night she was not able to form any words and just watched him curiously.

His infamous dark eyes were tracing her delicate contours of her beautiful face, from her sooty lashes to her pouty lips, the smooth column of her neck, the soft curls surrounding it.

It was strange, his feelings towards this woman. He despised her because of her blood but was tempted by her beauty.

Was he really this weak?

Like all those other wizards bewitched by a pretty face?

Rage filled him once again at this thought but _somehow_ , he was calmed when he just watched her curious sparkling eyes taking him in warily. When he saw her rosy lips breathing in hardly.

What was this curse she had casted over him?

“Let go of me”, Hermione said obstreperously after a few minutes of his silent observation.

At her words the royal guard seemed to awake and looked at her warningly because of her attitude, “It seems you are not in the right state of health to walk on your own, witch”, he stated coldly and started to walk.

Hermione was prepared to retort something very impolite to Riddle when she registered a soft piano playing in the direction he was heading to.

Suddenly it dawned on her heavily that she did not have any clue _where_ she was.

Taking in her surroundings she saw a magnificent high ceiling, with beautiful drawings.

Lovely childlike angels flying on puffy clouds. Singing, dancing.

On the walls where similar drawings.

All around the place where candle holder, creating a dim lightning in the whole area. Prettily carved columns were separating the place, creating a sort of division.

Her earthen eyes sparkled in awe.

Hermione was sure, that she never had seen a building this beautiful but something inside her stirred upon the sight.

Maybe she was here as a child with her muggle parents? She clearly did not remember but something told her she knew this place.

This thought darkened her mind.

Sadly, she adverted her eyes from the ceiling and looked at the chest of the wizards carrying her.

May she have forgotten a peaceful memory with her parents?

A sudden shifting in Riddles calm movement drew her back into reality.

He dropped her softly onto a padded bench, his hands gliding smoothly from her body. Her wary eyes scanned the motion of his body, inquiringly she watched as he crouched down in front of her.

His simmering dark gaze was on her face, once again it seemed like he was studying every feature of it.

His eyes travelled down to her pale neck, where the bruise he had created still were visible, her full chest, down her curvy hips and her long legs until it lasted on her hurt feet.

“Do not oppose me”, he stated imperiously and did not even wait for an answer.

His fingers touched her feet lightly, casting a nonverbal spell to clean of the mud sticking to them because of her futile run lately.

A surprised gasp left Hermiones lips when she felt his cold fingers on her skin. Firm but softly he raised her left foot in order to investigate her wounds.

Hermione was overwhelmed by his sudden softness.

A few days ago, he had threatened her, had chocked her and insulted her. Now, he had saved her life and proceeded to clean off her wounds. How was it possible for an human being to act this different?

Toms’ posture appeared cold and distant. His beautiful dark blue eyes calculating and callous.

His face a rigid mask never falling apart.

But right now, Hermione could catch a glimpse of something else she could not describe.

She saw the tension in his jaw when he investigated the painful cut on her foot. She saw the small frown on his handsome face upon the upcoming scar that would dull her skin afterwards.

Composed he peered down at her foot, casting a few more nonverbal spells, each one lessened the pain.

With heavy lidded eyes simmering in the soft candlelight Hermione watched his elegant movements.

With every featherlike curl of his fingers her pain subdued.

After a few minutes he stilled, and his impressive eyes wandered to her face. He saw how the shadows danced over her tender outlines. Playing with the glance of her doubtful eyes. Making her pouty lips appear even more glossy and inviting. Her long lashes casting shadows upon her cheeks.

 _Her hateful beauty will ruin me_ , he concluded humbly while he lost himself in the depth of her rich eyes.

Since he first laid eyes on her, he had sensed that something was odd with this mudblood.

Years passed by and he watched her mature, watched her become even more adorable. And then he had touched her, and this touch had changed _everything_.

His maniac obsession was released. The dark desire could not be controlled because he was just a man.

Pureblood or not, in the end he was just a poor creature seduced by the devil himself.

A devil covered as a beautiful young witch.

No longer could and wanted he deny himself the pleasure that was marvellously presented to him.

His grip on her feet tightened and forcefully he ripped at her, making her gasps in surprise because of the sudden changing of his mood.

Her whole body dropped to the ground and now she was half sitting in his lap, his face was just a breath away.

She could see the dark spots in his azure eyes, could see the faint stumble of his beard. His scent was everywhere, clouding her mind.

Everything within her body screamed that this was dangerous.

As his face slid closer to hers and he tried to lower his lips onto her neck, Hermione hands flung up in a gesture of protection.

Firmly her hands laid on his chest, pushing backwards, she frowned angrily, “Don’t come any closer!”, she said loudly.

Defiant eyes locking with his lust filled ones.

A small dark laugh escaped his pretty lips and his eyes narrowed slightly as he whispered velvety, “Do you really think, you have anything to say in this matter?”, he breathed hotly against her skin.

The hand still clutching her feet tightly, wandered to her hip, his left hand was suddenly on her chin, grasping it forcefully, making her gasps and her full pink lips parted slightly, sorely tempting him to close the distance between them.

“I have, you arrogant excuse of a man”, Hermione said hatefully, shaking her head softly.

Her curls swayed with every move and her scent filled Toms’ nose.

He closed his eyes and breathed her in, slowly.

When he opened her eyes, Hermiones’ breath stilled.

There was desire in his eyes. Lust. But deep inside him she saw the pure rage that emerged from within

And she was _scared_.

 

**-**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello there, sorry for the rather long waiting! I am very displeased with my current writing and I am trying to Change something in my style. I want to go deeper and I have to admit that I've rewritten this chapter over 6 times. Hopefully you like it!


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